Cutting the Cheese

I’ve mentioned a time or two that this one is something else. I’ve also admitted that I am forced to take full credit and responsibility for it. Those flirty, stormy eyes? Mine. That quick-silver, overly dramatic temper? Me again. That impulsive need to break out in improvised song? Why, yes– she got it from her mama.


Awhile back now, I told the tale of G. and her clean-up song at church. It still makes me giggle to think her busting out with “C’ean up, c’ean up, every BEAR!” while the entire congregation was silent. What a little nut.


Though she continues to be really, really well-behaved at Mass every week– and I’m so grateful for this– there are, of course, some comical moments.


This is the one from last Sunday.


So, though my older two children do not get snacks of any kind in church, my youngest still eats her breakfast there since we go to the 7:30am service. She calls it her “church food” and she starts getting excited about it already on Saturday.


I pack the SAME thing every single week for her: cheerios, raisins, peas, and string cheese. She loves it. I’ve packed that same combo for a couple years now, to be honest.


I used to always dice up the string cheese before I tossed it in with the peas. Tiny fingers did well with tiny bites and it saved us from having to wrestle with that silly wrapper while at church. That worked fine until just recently when she told me she preferred me to leave it whole. Okay. Not a big deal and I am one who picks my battles.


So, this past Sunday, we sat quietly, waiting for Mass to begin. People around us were praying or thinking or whatever else, but they were doing it silently. G. knew that she does not get her food until the readings begin, so she wasn’t even trying to get it.


Apparently, she was, however, thinking about it.


Because, breaking the silence with her sudden, clear, lyrical little voice, she inquired loudly,


“Mommy– did you cut the cheese?”


No, baby girl, I did not.


But thanks so much for that.

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